


never found a boy (to love me like you do)

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drinking Games, M/M, Sex, UST, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sits down opposite him, long fingers wrapping round the vodka bottle’s neck as he drags it towards him. “Huh.” He’s practically caressing the lid as he unscrews it and Derek shifts in his seat, looks determinedly elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never found a boy (to love me like you do)

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Dude, would you relax? Woah, actually,” Stiles clutches his chest dramatically. “Can you even do that? If your heart rate slows does a bomb go off somewhere?”

Derek glares at him across the table, ignoring the way Stiles’ teasing smile makes his stupid, dumb heart pick up. He’s surprised it doesn’t make his own chest explode. Stiles, it would appear, is Derek’s personal fuck you to Peter claiming he doesn’t have a heart. Because whenever Stiles is around Derek’s heart decides to remind him that hey, it does exist, and it has feelings. For a stupid, ridiculously attractive, argumentative nineteen year old.

Stiles, Lydia and Allison are home on break and currently the rest of Derek’s loud, unruly group of friends are sprawled around the living room watching _Tangled_. Scott has cried twice, burying his face in Allison’s shoulder, Jackson looked riveted the last time Derek checked in on them, and Boyd and Isaac are arguing over who would be Flynn and who would be Maximus.

There’s a clink on the table and Derek turns back to it to see Stiles pulling bottles out of his satchel.

“You’re not serious.”

“I wanna see, dude. Come on, I bet you’re a hilarious drunk.”

“He is,” Isaac pitches in through the door. “The night you guys left for college, he got so drunk he moonwalked down the high street.”

Stiles’ face lights up and he turns to beam at Derek. Derek hides his head in his hands briefly as Stiles starts punching his arm. “No way, _no way_ , Derek. I mean, _no way_.”

“Way,” Derek says drily.

Stiles closes his eyes and Derek scowls at the smile on his face; it should not be endearing when Stiles is mocking him.

“Stop picturing it.”

“I actually _can’t_.”

Derek swats at his cheek, making Stiles’ eyes snap open, still alive with mirth. “Can you do it for me now? Help a brother out, dude, I need to see it with my own eyes.”

“I have no recollection of the move Isaac is referring to.”

“But he’s not lying?”

Derek scowls, feeling his face heat up. “I think there’s a video.”

Stiles bounds into the living room, yelling at Isaac for not showing him earlier and Derek regrets all of the life choices he has made that have brought him here.

“He won’t show it me,” Stiles huffs, banging back into the kitchen. “Something about some stupid promise he made you.”

“I know all of Isaac’s secrets,” Derek says smugly.

Stiles sits down opposite him, long fingers wrapping round the vodka bottle’s neck as he drags it towards him. “Huh.” He’s practically caressing the lid as he unscrews it and Derek shifts in his seat, looks determinedly elsewhere.

“Yo,” Boyd pokes his head round the door. “We’re going for food, want anything?”

“Sushi!” Derek pulls a face and Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’d think a werewolf would like his meat raw, not have a special delicate palette.”

“Fish doesn’t count,” Derek sniffs.

“Weirdo,” Stiles huffs, sounding almost fond as he lines up shot glasses and fills them.

“I still don’t know why I’ve agreed to this.”

“Because it’s Saturday night and even grouchy alphas need to kick back every once in a while?” Stiles pauses, lifts an eyebrow at him. “Unless your idea of kicking back is with a good book and a comforter? How old are you again?”

Derek screws up a page from the newspaper in front of him and tosses it at Stiles. He grins wickedly back, sprinkles wolfsbane on half the shots.

“You ready?”

“I don’t think I need to prepare to do shots, Stiles.”

“I don’t know, there might be a ritual I am not aware of.”

“Well, normally there’s a solemn walk through the woods naked.”

Stiles’ grip on the bottle slips and he flails around, trying to prevent it falling on the floor. He places it carefully back on the tables and then glares at Derek, even as his cheeks pink up. He looks… _delectable_ with his skin flushed like that. Derek swallows, schools his face into easy amusement as Stiles scowls at him. “ _Dude_.”

Derek shrugs, “You asked.”

“I miss the days when I asked questions and you told me to shut up, or ignored me.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says, feeling pleased he could hear the blip in Stiles’ heartbeat confirming the lie.

“I—” Stiles rolls his eyes and pushes shots towards Derek. “Just shut up and do your shots like a _good_ werewolf.”

Derek drums his fingers against the wood, eyebrows raised and Stiles stares stubbornly back. Finally, he cracks and lifts his own glass, “To your good health or, whatever. Nastrovia.”

He tips it back, and Derek watches as his throat works, as he scrunches up his face and coughs a little.

“Didn’t learn how to swallow a shot properly at college?”

“I was too busy learning to swallow other things,” Stiles shoots back, and Derek feels his claws dig into the table briefly.

“Huh.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Dude, kidding, for fuck’s sake, would you take your shot? You’re making me nervous here.”

Derek doesn’t take his eyes off him as he lifts his own glass and downs the shot. Stiles quirks an eyebrow, mouth falling open slightly and he licks his lips unconsciously. Derek relishes the way his heartbeat picks up, runs his finger round the rim of the glass.

“So, wolfsbane taste ok?” Stiles asks eventually, voice cracking a little.

Derek shrugs. “’S’better than being shot with it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stiles says cheerfully. “Hey, I never got shot before!”

Derek pauses. “What are you doing?”

“It’s an I never, dude.”

“I know the game,” he replies drily.

“Good, so we can play,” Stiles sniffs, pouring more shots.

The things is… the thing is Derek sucks at saying no to Stiles. There was a time when he could; when they’d be driving in the Jeep and Stiles would try to listen to Queen and Derek would say _no_. He could say no to doing things the easy way, make life difficult for Stiles just because he was pissed at the world, and Stiles was pissed at him which made him even _more_ pissed. Derek found saying _no_ so much easier than saying yes. Then it was because it wound him up, made him get in Derek’s face and yell at him, swear at him, it was fun to watch his cheeks spot with color and his eyes spark.

Derek’s never known how to have fun like normal people he supposes.

But, Stiles isn’t normal either and Derek fucking thrives on that. Stiles is the person you want in the foxhole with you, whether Derek originally thought it a good idea or not. He’s saved Derek’s life more than a dozen times; he’s punched Derek; cared for Derek; stuck Band-Aids on him that are moot, but Derek could see it in Stiles’ eyes he needed to do something and let Stiles fuss over cuts on his arms or his face. He’s slowly worked his way into every part of Derek that used to say no, and now says _ok Stiles, how high_. Because Derek is apparently an absolute sucker for stubborn bastards that protect him fiercely, and look out for him, and snark with him, and just generally make Derek fall in love with them when he wasn’t trying to, and desperately fought not to.

So, he’s playing I never. He’s suddenly sixteen and at Catelyn Martin’s birthday party again.

“I never got detention.”

Stiles snorts, quirks an eyebrow at him. “Jesus, you must have been such a good boy.” He makes a show of doing a shot, long and slow, as if to imply he’s done more than his fair share of detentions. Derek avoids staring at the long expanse of neck laid out before him, inviting him to lick, to suck, to press his teeth against the skin and scrape.

“I never did something naughty just for the hell of it,” Stiles interrupts his thoughts, filling up their glasses.

“ _Liar_.”

“Yeah, but I’m curious to see if _you_ did.”

Grudgingly, Derek takes a shot and Stiles’ eyes light up. “Whatcha do?”

Derek shuffles his feet around under the table, shrugs slightly. “Used to break into the park with my sister after dark, mess around on all the equipment.”

Stiles laughs, loud and infectious. “Oh my god, dude, that was your idea of naughty?”

“I was nine! It felt like we were gonna be in a world of trouble if we got caught. But it was… liberating,” he adds softly. “To let loose and do kid stuff, even without other kids present.”

There’s a beat of silence and Stiles gazes at him, nudges their feet together. “I bet it would have been my dad that caught you,” he says finally, smiling faintly. “I’m kinda surprised he didn’t, Scott and I used to do shit like that all the time.”

“You and Scott _still_ do shit like that.”

“True,” Stiles preens, and Derek rolls his eyes. “What? If we weren’t miscreants your life would be boring.”

“You’re a bad influence on me.”

“Liar,” Stiles says firmly, pointing at Derek. “And don’t front like you don’t have fun with us.”

Derek fiddles with his shot glass, fills it up and does the same to Stiles’. “I never got caught in a lie.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s cos you’re a fucking werewolf and I’m _me_. I can’t lie for shit.”

Derek crooks a smirk at him, lifts his eyebrows at the shot and Stiles does it, muttering about Derek and his evil, evil superpowers.

“Never, have I _ever_ , been handcuffed,” Stiles says smirking.

“That was entirely _your_ fault,” Derek huffs, and Stiles shrugs, waves a hand at Derek’s shot.

“Drink up.”

“I never dropped my phone when trying to make a lifesaving phone call,” Derek retorts as he slams his glass back down on the table.

“I never summersaulted into a situation to show off.”

“I never lied and said I didn’t trust someone when I did.”

“Liar! I never ran around town shirtless.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, sits back on his chair, suddenly much closer to Stiles than it was at the start of the night. He can feel the faint effects of the wolfsbane; making everything just a little bit hazy and slow. When Stiles looks at him he can feel it in his bones, wrapping around him like smoke, and unsettling his pulse.

“I never kissed somebody and felt it in my toes,” Stiles says quietly. Derek spins his glass, doesn’t drink and Stiles huffs, shakes his head. “Well that’s just sad.”

Derek flicks a glance at him, leans across the table on his elbows. “I never kissed somebody I trusted.”

Stiles hums, scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but at Derek. “I never did the moonwalk in a drunken stupor,” he mumbles.

Derek grins, drinks his shot without looking at it. “I never learnt how to swallow at college.”

“You learn it somewhere else?” Stiles asks through gritted teeth.

“No,” Derek ducks his head until Stiles meets his gaze. “Did you?”

“No, dumbass. I never learnt any of that shit. I never did a strip tease for anyone, I never did the whole pop your cherry in your first week at college thing, because I was too busy comparing them all to y—”

Derek cuts him off, kissing him fiercely, hands bracing themselves on the back of Stiles’ chair as Stiles makes a noise of blatant relief, grabs at his shirt and pulls. Derek sweeps his arms round Stiles’ back, tugs until Stiles shifts off his own chair and half falls into Derek’s lap, knees sliding round his waist as he straddles him. His hands are threading through Derek’s hair, and he yanks on it slightly, pulls away from Derek’s mouth.

He can’t help but stare at Stiles’ own mouth, red and puffy from their bruising kiss and thumbs at it softly.

“I never told someone I was in love with, I was in love with them,” Stiles says quietly, hands still petting through Derek’s hair. “Even though I _was_ in love with them, and I didn’t want to say anything so I let them go and they really fucking missed me and now they’re back and they’re sick of waiting, and they love you, too.”

Derek tightens his arms where they’re wrapped round Stiles’ waist, leans forward and rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “You fucking knew?”

Stiles squirms around on his lap and Derek lets out a ragged breath, tries to keep him still. “Not till right this second.”

“I couldn’t ask you to stay, I couldn’t—”

“We could have been having months of phone sex,” Stiles scolds the top of his head.

Derek grins into his shoulder, tilts his head to look at him. “I never had phone sex.”

“Well, neither did I but I’m sure we could have gotten pretty good at it. It’s not like you’re a fan of long conversations, pretty sure you could get me off in about three words.”

He can’t stop smiling, even as he’s rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ neck, turning so he can mouth against it, clutching at Stiles’ shirt and making him shiver, arch against Derek. Then he’s nudging at Derek’s temple, making him look up and kissing him again. Stiles sighs into his mouth, twirling his hands round locks of Derek’s hair, tugging at the strands as he pushes his tongue into Derek’s mouth. Derek wants to fucking _devour_ him, loses himself in the wet, warm, deliciousness that is the mouth that’s driven him up the fucking wall for the better part of three years. He stands and Stiles yelps in surprise, wraps his arms round Derek’s shoulders and tightens his legs round Derek’s waist.

“I never got carried to a bedroom before,” he says, smiling down at Derek.

“Who says we’re going to the bedroom?”

“I was assuming,” Stiles says breathlessly, grinding his hips into Derek’s. Derek shuts his eyes briefly, sucks in a breath before kicking the kitchen door open, carrying him across the loft.

Stiles is peppering his face with kisses, huffing out half laughs as Derek trips over unseen bags and shoes before he ducks lower, kisses Derek’s neck.

There’s a split second where Derek freezes and Stiles pulls away, eyes half lidded. “You ok?”

Derek nods, stares at him intently. “I never—” he shakes himself, leans Stiles gently against the wall to look at him. “I haven’t—” he exhales, irritated himself at not being able to express what he means.

Slowly, Stiles brings one of his hands round to cup Derek’s jaw and Derek leans into his hand. He’s not afraid of Stiles, and he doesn’t believe Stiles has the capacity to hurt him, not after all this time; it’s more the hesitation before you leap from the rocks into the sea below. You know it’ll feel good, amazing even, when the waves crash around you or when you lose yourself in something else, in _someone_ else. But Derek’s spent a long time resisting the pull. He’s not ever let himself jump before.

“It’s ok,” Stiles says quietly, voice warm as his fingers stroke across Derek’s cheek. “You don’t—”

Derek takes a breath and then tips his head to the side, feels Stiles still in his arms.

“Or, you could do that,” Stiles murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Derek’s pulse point. He breathes against Derek’s skin, careful and gentle before licking a stripe to his jawline and Derek twists so they can kiss again.

The cautiousness is abandoned as Stiles shudders, pulls away to tug at the sleeves of Derek’s shirt. “Take it—take it _off_ ,” he groans out.

Derek obliges, with a little difficulty as Stiles barely seems to want to let go of him, and then his hands are on Derek’s shoulders, digging into bare skin, sweeping down his back as Derek makes his way blindly into the bedroom. He shuts the door with a snap, and Stiles grins into his mouth.

“So _dramatic_.”

“It works for you,” Derek counters.

“Never said it didn’t,” Stiles says loftily. “There’s a reason I find everyone at college fairly boring.”

“Maybe that’s just because you spent two years running round with werewolves.”

“Or, maybe it’s just cos no one was shoving me up against doors, or throwing me in lakes, or getting trapped in caves with me and acting like it’s somehow offensive to have to share a confined space with me.”

“You have, _no idea_ what you smelt like to me,” Derek says raggedly.

“Bad teenage things?”

“No, like you were fucking broadcasting the things you wanted me to do to you.”

“You should have done them,” Stiles huffs crossly. “It was pretty much an engraved invitation.”

“You were seventeen and pissed at me.”

“I’m always pissed at you.”

“No,” Derek nudges at his cheek with his nose, as he drops to the bed, reaches out blindly to push the crumpled up covers away. “It’s not the same anymore.”

Stiles hums in agreement, stretches out over him, hands everywhere as they slide up Derek’s arms, brush against his sides, clutch his face. Derek feels every touch, every tremor of Stiles’ fingers as they meet his skin, every thud of his heart, hard and fast against his ribcage. He slips his hand under Stiles’ shirt, strokes against his ribs, presses down to feel the beat. Stiles smiles against his cheek, kisses it before straightening up. Derek lets his hand fall away, grips at his thigh through the layer of denim.

“You gonna say some stupidly romantic things and make me feel special?” Stiles asks coyly.

“You are,” Derek replies frowning.

“Oh, shit, _Derek_ ,” Stiles whines. “Don’t say things like that.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow at him. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I, if they’re true?”

“Because then I’ll start saying nice things about you, and we’ll be here all night and not ever actually get naked, which,” Stiles grinds down against him, making them both shiver. “I would really like to be a thing we do, now.”

“Yeah?” Derek sits up, brushes their lips together as he gets two handfuls of Stiles’ shirt and yanks it off.

“Yeah,” Stiles repeats, shimmying out of his jeans, tossing his boxers somewhere, and rolling to the side, tugging Derek on top of him. Derek holds himself up, gazes down at him. He’s seen Stiles shirtless before, he’s seen him soaked through on more than one occasion; wet clothes clinging to his long, lean muscles. He’s never been allowed to touch before. He’s never been able to bend and run his tongue along Stiles’ clavicle, to kiss his chest, to mouth at his stomach while Stiles groans above him. His long fingers are digging into Derek’s hair, not demanding, just holding on, and Derek leans into it.

He scrapes his teeth against Stiles’ hipbones, bites down and Stiles pushes into it as he sucks at the skin, lathes it with his tongue. “Derek.”

“Stiles.”

“Not that I’m against you spending time bonding with my hip, but you’re sort of missing the mark?”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Yeah? Where would that be?”

“Derek,” Stiles warns. “I can just do it myself, you know.” He leaves a hand in Derek’s hair, winds the other round his cock. He looks down at Derek, biting his lip as he jacks himself off. “Oh, _yeah_ , just sit there and look pretty, ‘kay?”

Derek scowls, bats his hand away. “I’ll show you pretty,” he mutters before dragging his tongue up Stiles’ length, making him keen. He slides his hands up Stiles’ hips, grabs one to twine their fingers together whilst Stiles drags the other through his hair. His fingers are flexing like they don’t totally know what to do with themselves; Derek gets ideas for later. He ducks his head, mouths around the head of Stiles’ dick and Stiles jerks his hips off the bed.

“Oh, shit, sorry, first rule, don’t choke the person about to give you head,” he slurs.

Derek smirks. “There are rules?”

“I wouldn’t know yet, dickhead; seeing as you’re still taking your sweet time at getting around to actually _sucking my cock_.”

“Tomorrow,” Derek says easily, breath ghosting over said cock and making Stiles shudder. “I’m going to take my time with you. You won’t be allowed to boss me around—”

Stiles snorts and Derek nips at his inner thigh in warning.

“You won’t be able to speed anything up, or make me rush. I’m going to take you _apart_ , bit by bit. I’ll do every single thing I’ve thought about doing to you, and you’ll take it, because you deserve someone to fucking worship you.”

Stiles groans, bites his fist. “ _Derek_ , would you please—”

Derek climbs over him, hand slipping to jerk him off as the other yanks on Stiles’ hair, pulls him back to kiss his neck. “I’ve never fucked somebody I trusted before,” he murmurs into Stiles’ skin. “And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Stiles makes a noise of surprise and Derek stills. He lifts his head to look at Stiles, suddenly feeling cut open, accidentally saying more than he meant to. He hadn’t thought the few shots they’d done had really affected him at all, but they’ve obviously made him loose tongued. Stiles curves a hand round Derek’s face, blinks up at him all openly affectionate and with so much warmth in his eyes it makes Derek ache even more.

“ _Never loved anybody the way I love youuuu_ ,” he sings suddenly. Derek laughs sharply, bites at his fingers as Stiles grins, curling up to press his face into Derek’s neck. “You weren’t supposed to get romantic,” he mumbles against Derek’s jaw.

“Tough,” Derek sighs, dragging a hand down Stiles’ back.

“But same, _duh_.”

Then he’s pulling Derek down onto the mattress, kissing him hard as he shoves at Derek’s jeans. Derek strips them off hurriedly, tangles their legs together and hisses when their cocks brush. He presses one last kiss to Stiles’ lips before sliding down the bed, pushing Stiles’ legs open and settling between them. He’s not had a lot of experience doing this; he hasn’t been with anyone in over a year, rarely even before then, and in New York, before, it was always rough and uninterested. He hardly ever bothered to take note of what they were into; it was always obvious enough. He knows he’s well built, knows what people see when he walks into a room. Stiles, Derek knows from firsthand experience, didn’t give a shit that Derek was considered attractive when they first met. He didn’t look at Derek like he was imagining him naked.

He looked at Derek like he was thinking about all the ways Derek was ruining his life, and how he could make things even. He looked at Derek in a calculating way, got under his skin, pestered him, bothered him, never gave up on him. Stiles only ever started looking at Derek with something different in his eyes when they’d put a little of the antagonism behind them.

Now, however, his eyes are liquid hot and burning through Derek as he gazes down at him. “Fuck, _Derek_ ,” he groans, trying to buck up into Derek’s mouth. Derek hums, definitely agreeing that needs to happen, and Stiles makes a noise unlike any other he’s ever heard before. His hands are drifting from Derek’s hair to gripping the headboard; clutching at the sheets, slipping off Derek’s shoulders. Derek plays to his reactions; just a hint of teeth, long slow drags up and down his cock, swirling his tongue as he pulls off before taking him into his mouth as deep as he can without choking. Stiles is jerking up against him, cursing his name, clawing at Derek’s shoulders and Derek sucks harder, trying his best to make it good for him. He wants everything to be good for Stiles.

“Oh, fuck, Derek, I’m gonna—” Stiles tugs at his hair and Derek ignores him, swallows around him and Stiles yells out, feet digging into the bed as he comes. He licks his lips, considering the taste and Stiles groans when he glances at him. “Could you not? For at least five minutes.”

Derek grins, kisses his knee because it’s there, crawls back up the bed and smiles down at him. Stiles gazes at him, eyes half-mast. He pats Derek’s cheek limply. “Quit looking so pleased with yourself, you want a medal?”

“No, I want to fuck you,” he says plainly. “Can I?”

“Nope, I was just using you as foreplay before Boyd gets back.”

Derek scowls, even as he’s thumbing at Stiles’ cheek. “Not funny.”

“Was a little funny,” Stiles says cheekily, smile irresistible and Derek really just wants to wrap him up in blankets and keep him here forever. He wants for Stiles to stay with him, all the time, to tell Derek all the ridiculous things he thinks about; like what was the point of T-Rex’s having arms, or why Cinderella married a dude with a foot fetish. He wants to wake up and be scrunched against Stiles’ shoulder, to go to bed and having him mumbling next to him. He wants a lot of things he can’t vocalize, things that are big, _huge_ , and he has no idea if Stiles wants them too.

“You gonna get jealous and piss in a circle round me?” Stiles interrupts his thoughts, draws him back to the present, to the smell of his skin, the warm, languid feeling in the air.

“No,” Derek ducks his head, mouths at his neck. “They’ll all know anyway.”

“Shit, we’re never gonna get any peace from them.”

“We never do.”

“Look at you trying to sound annoyed and looking fond instead.”

“I’m putting an automatic ban on talking about any of our friends when we’re having sex,” Derek says firmly, reaching across the bed and fumbling to open the drawer of his bedside cabinet.

Stiles grins, rolls them and grabs the lube from Derek. “As in, future tense, there’s gonna be more of this?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “What do you think?”

“It could be awful,” Stiles warns, slicking up his fingers expertly and Derek can’t tear his eyes away.

“What are you talking about?”

“The sex, Derek.”

“Maybe it will be,” Derek says thoughtfully, catching Stiles’ hips as Stiles gets comfortable on top of him.

“We might never want to talk to each other again,” Stiles slips a hand down, teases his own entrance and Derek’s mouth feels dry as he watches. “Not be able to make— _oh_ —eye contact after.”

He tightens his hands as Stiles rocks above him, brushing against Derek’s cock with his slippery fingers, making him want to roll them over and push inside, take and take and—

“’S’not likely,” he rasps out. “Considering I’ve already made you come once.”

“I’m a teenager,” Stiles crooks a grin at him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Beginners luck.”

Derek flips him onto his back, presses his hands into the sheets and tells him to leave them there, slicks up his own hand and pushes a finger into Stiles’ tight, welcoming hole with no warning. “Yeah?”

Stiles’ eyes are shut and he nods, wordlessly.

Slowly, Derek slides in and out, works him open. Stiles is making tiny, aborted noises, pushing back against Derek as he adds another finger.

“I don’t care if it’s bad,” Derek breathes out against his chin. “It could be the worst sex we’ll ever have,” he glances down at where his fingers are disappearing into Stiles, looks at the flush across his chest, thinks about the fact that this is Stiles letting him do this. “It’s not going to be, but even if it is,” he slips in a third finger and Stiles’ face scrunches up, hands moving to grip his shoulders. “We’ll make it better. I want you,” he crooks his fingers, searching for that place that makes pleasure spark. “In every way I can have you.” He bites Stiles’ lower lip, kisses him as he speeds his fingers up. “All the time, whenever, wherever, and not just for this.”

Stiles’ eyes snap open and he nods, swallowing. “Just, oh, Derek just fuck me would you?”

Derek’s hand stills, Stiles still rocking back against him. “You sure—”

“Yeah, god I want to feel your dick inside of me in the next ten seconds or I will—”

“Alright, alright,” Derek interrupts. “Pushy.”

“Like you won’t be, oh, fuck, exactly the same,” Stiles breathes out. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t just stick me on my hands and knees and tell me to hold on to something.”

Derek smirks as he pulls out of him. “Some other time.”

Stiles shudders, pushes at his shoulder until he’s on his back and Stiles is straddling him. “I wanna—I wanna see.”

“Ok,” Derek says faintly, skin tingling like he’s about to snap with the enormity of this _fucking moment_. His eyes flutter shut when Stiles curls a hand around his dick. They both pause, Stiles seemingly aware this is the first time he’s actually touched Derek. When Derek opens his eyes, Stiles is watching his own hand slide up and down his cock.

“You wanna take a picture?” Derek says through gritted teeth.

Stiles hums, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. “Kinky shit, sure. We better think of a decent password—Danny’s a ninja at that kind of thing.”

“Do _not_ talk about him right now.”

“God, I _really_ didn’t think the possessive thing worked for me,” Stiles groans as he hovers over Derek. “I am learning a _lot_ tonight.”

Derek thinks he replies, but he’s too busy watching as Stiles slides down on top of him. It’s too hot, it’s too much, he feels like he’s being consumed by it. His hands are gripping Stiles’ hips so tightly he knows he’ll leave bruises, knows Stiles will have marks on him, marks Derek should feel bad about but will want to look at religiously as often as possible. As long as this is the only kind of bruise Stiles ever gets he’ll be happy. He wishes, briefly, that Stiles could leave similar marks on Derek.

“Oh my god, _Derek_ , say something, you look like you’re gonna pass out on me,” Stiles stares down at him wide eyed. “You gonna hurl?”

“No, _idiot_. Just—feels good,” he mutters, stroking apologetic fingers up Stiles’ sides. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Stiles deadpans, shifting a little to make his point, and instead making both of them groan.

“You’re perfect,” Derek blurts out. “You’re just—shit, Stiles, I just really—”

“Yeah, yeah it’s ok,” Stiles cuts in softly. “’S’ok, I got this.” He grabs Derek’s hands, twines their fingers together on the pillows and rocks backwards. “Oh, yeah I take it all back, ok. This is—this is gonna be good.”

Derek can hear noises coming out of his mouth, noises he’s sure he’ll be embarrassed by later. But Stiles is on top of him, _all around him_ , fingers tight around Derek’s, mouth open and face flushed with pleasure. He rolls his hips slowly, and Derek thrusts back experimentally.

Cautiously, Stiles does it again.

Somewhere between getting their bearings and remembering how to breathe again; it gets really, _really_ good.

Derek’s aware of Stiles rising up over him and slamming back down, building up a rhythm that sets his teeth on edge, makes it hard to get air to his lungs. Stiles is so fucking tight, and hot, muscles taught and on edge as he rides Derek.  And then he’s sitting up, pulling Stiles into his chest, fucking into him with total wild abandon. Stiles’ arms winding round his neck, hard cock leaking in between them as he curses Derek’s name, kisses him between words.

Derek drops him back on the sheets, covering his body with his own and kissing him deeply. He’s actually breaking a sweat as he thrusts into Stiles, everything dirty, and wet and obscene and _so fucking good_.

He’s pretty sure he loses track of time. Stiles is exactly how Derek wanted him to be, hands demanding as they tug on Derek’s skin, sliding over his back, mouth open in surprise, eyes focused and _sure_ when he looks up at Derek.

“Derek, just—” Stiles digs his fingers into his shoulder blades, tries to get one hand between them and Derek leans down on one elbow, wraps their hands together round Stiles’ cock.

“You gonna come?”

“What do you fucking think?” Stiles gasps out.

Derek grins at him, looks down at where they’re joined, at the blur of their skin, and the way their hips roll into each others’. “Want you to come,” he says. “You feel so fucking _good_ ; want you to feel it—”

“I do, I do, _fuck_ ,” Stiles turns his face to the side and Derek lets go of his dick to catch his chin.

“Don’t, _look at me_.”

Stiles twists to look at him, breathing out his name. Then he clenches around him, making Derek shove in harder, almost unthinkingly reacting to it as Stiles comes again between them. Stiles yells, whole body arching up like a bow and Derek bends to kiss him through it. He can feel his own orgasm hurtling towards him, his arms shaking, and he suddenly feels terrified of it, of the huge chasm of feelings that are chasing it, ripping him open.

“Derek,” Stiles murmurs. “Derek, it’s ok, it’s ok.” He trails his hands clumsily across Derek’s face, scrapes his nails through his hair and down his back. “Want to feel it when you come.”

And because Derek is so utterly and totally done when it comes to Stiles, he can’t help but fucking oblige. His orgasm tears through him so strongly it’s almost painful and he bites through his lip, buries his face in Stiles’ neck as he rides it out.

His hips slow of their own accord and he pulls out, Stiles wincing and Derek looks at him in alarm.

“Feels weird,” Stiles croaks. “Not bad weird, don’t look like that.”

Derek slips a hand between Stiles’ legs making him sigh. “Really, _really_ gonna need five minutes this time.”

He laughs, presses a kiss to one of the freckles on Stiles’ shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah, I totally—we are _so_ not gonna have bad sex,” Stiles mumbles sleepily. He lifts a hand up high towards Derek. “Hit that.”

“I just did,” Derek grumbles, grabbing a shirt off the floor to wipe off the mix of sweat and come on their stomachs. “And we are not _ever_ going to high five after sex.”

“What if we do it somewhere awesome and wanna self-congratulate?”

Derek leans over him, kisses him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ha, you _love_ me.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, nothing,” Stiles shrugs, runs a finger over Derek’s eyebrow, smooths it down his cheek. “I’m just reminding you.”

“Leave me a post it note somewhere.”

“Oh, I will.” Stiles rolls off the wet spot in the middle of the bed and shoves Derek into it. “Your fault, you deal.”

“ _My_ bed.”

“Should I go sleep in Isaac’s room?”

Derek rises to the bait, curls an arm round Stiles’ shoulders and tugs him close. “No.”

“Sucker.”

“I knew doing shots with you was a bad idea.”

“Liar! It was the best motherfucking idea in the world.”

He trails his hand through Stiles’ hair, looks down at his face, content and as peaceful as an overactive, ever thinking Stiles Stilinski is gonna get.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was.”

When he bends to kiss Stiles this time it’s slow, as gentle as Derek can manage, and Stiles smiles into it, gets what Derek’s _not_ saying without trying.

*

“Nah, they haven’t gone out, Stiles’ shoes are in the hall.”

Derek wakes to the sound of Scott’s voice, feet pattering through the living room. Stiles shuffles beside him, tightening his grip on Derek’s waist and mumbling sleepily about jesus and shoes. Derek doesn’t even want to know what he’s dreaming about. He hears Scott getting closer, wonders whether maybe he should find a shirt, when the door snaps open and Scott practically howls.

“What the fuck?!”

Stiles jerks upright next to him, scrambling around. “Wassmatter? Who died? What happened?”

“ _Stiles!_ ” Scott’s got his eyes covered, bent over and groaning. “Why are you naked?!”

“Why’d you think?” Stiles retorts, collapsing back on the pillows, trying to curl up against Derek’s hip now he’s confirmed no one’s dying.

Scott makes a sound similar to that of a beached whale and Isaac, Boyd and Erica skid to the entrance of Derek’s bedroom.

“What’s going on—”

“Is everyone ok—”

“ _Damn_ , Stilinski you did not have those muscles when we were climbing that rock wall together.”

Derek glares at all three of them, hopes Erica can feel it the most, and slides the sheet up over Stiles’ shoulders.

“Get out.”

“No,” Erica huffs. “This is the best thing I’ve seen since I discovered Dale Cooper.”

“Erica!” Isaac chastens.

She shrugs, kinks an eyebrow at him. “You knew who he was.”

Stiles pulls Derek’s pillow over his head. “Make them leave, and I’ll blow you before I go back to sleep.”

“I’m out,” Boyd says immediately, disappearing into the living room and telling Jackson to turn the sound up on Ratatouille.

Derek lifts an eyebrow at Erica and she sighs dramatically. “Spoilsports,” she grumbles before following Boyd.

Scott’s still whining in pain and Stiles huffs, sits up and throws the pillow at him. “Dude, for fuck’s sake! It’s not like you walked in on us mid coitus.”

“Stiles!”

Derek can feel his face beginning to heat up; this is honestly ridiculous.

“I’m happy, he’s happy, we even said the big l words before we did the deed, no need for any threatening speeches, I’m sure there’ll be plenty more opportunities for you to catch us naked, so get used to it and get out.”

Scott quietens down, looks across at Derek in the dark room. “If you hurt him—”

“Scott!”

“No, dude, you’re my brother, ok. And this is—not totally unexpected but ugh, it’s still Derek and he’s still not wearing clothes.”

“This is my home,” Derek interrupts, then falls quiet when he sees the look on Scott’s face. “I won’t fucking hurt him,” he promises.

“But if you do—”

“Derek’s like mad in love with him, bro,” Isaac says suddenly, clapping a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Love of his life and all that crap.” While Derek waits for a hole to come and swallow him up, Stiles’ hand steals out from under the covers and grabs his.

“I still think—”

“Scott,” Derek says suddenly. “I get it, ok?”

“Come on,” Isaac says soothingly. “We can do the rest of the shots these dumbasses didn’t even bother finishing.”

Scott makes _I’m watching you_ actions at Derek as Isaac shoves him out of the room, closing the door carefully behind them. Derek flops back against the pillows, pulls the hand he’s holding to rest on his chest. Stiles’ fingers drum a rhythm against his skin for a second.

“So,” he says finally, pushing the other pillow off his face and grinning at Derek. “That could have been worse?”

Derek rolls his eyes but flattens his hand down on top of Stiles’. “We’re never leaving this room.”

“Works for me.”

Stiles rolls across the mattress, kisses whatever skin he can reach of Derek’s as he clambers on top of him. “I never had sex,” he pronounces.

Derek smirks, hears the blip of Stiles’ heart. “Feel like a real boy now?”

“Ha ha, fuck you very much.”

“If you really want,” Derek says, shrugging nonchalantly.

Stiles beams. “Yeah? We do have a lot of stuff on that I never list to cross off.”

Derek winds his arms round his back, tugs him close. “’Kay.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic of) Never Found a Boy to Love Me Like You Do by Stilinskisparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386034) by [chemm80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80)




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